Glowing Dim As an Ember
by SongofHopeandHonor
Summary: Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation was lost in the course of a bloody revolution, headed by the Water Tribe witch Hama. Katara and Sokka are two poor siblings hoping to win enough money to survive and eat well by returning the lost prince, now under the alias of Lee, to his aging uncle. Katara's growing affection for Lee threatens to complicate things. AU loosely based on "Anastasia".
1. Once Upon a Summer's Eve

A/N: So this is the first story that I'm uploading to my new account! I've already uploaded five chapters of this fic to my AO3 account, and you can read it there as well if you'd like; I've provided a link to my AO3 on my profile!

So I really, really love Zuko and Katara, and I love Zutara even more. I also love the animated movie_ Anastasia_, and I wondered if I could write a Zutara AU based loosely around that concept. This is my attempt to do so. Other pairings in this fic will be Sukka and Mai Lee. The rating is subject to change. I'd really love it if you left a review telling me what you think, and what you liked or disliked, and what about this story could use improvement. Thanks, and I'll probably be updating this quite soon!

-Song

* * *

_IT WAS A different world then, a world of elaborate balls and painted perfumed nobles. It was a world of indulgence and decadence, one where the wealthy would turn up their noses to the rot and corruption that lurked beneath the silk kimonos of their own brethren._

_It was my world, once. It was my nephew's world, too._

_Before I lost him. Before the revolution that would plunge our worlds into a blind darkness. Those silk hangings were ripped away to reveal the very corruption that we had all tried so hard to ignore._

_The Fire Nation Empire was in its top form—my younger brother, Fire Lord Ozai, was in the peak of his power, happily—if tumultuously—married to the beautiful Ursa. Their children, Azula, and my precious, precious nephew Zuko, were brilliant and happy. They were inclined to pettiness and fights, as most children were, but they were loved and content. More than content. Between the Fire Nation's native richness and the exports from our colonies, the royals and nobles of our land were free to wallow in as many luxuries as they wished._

_They—we—were blind to the resentment that had been boiling for almost one hundred years._

_We were blind to the treachery under our very noses._

_If only I'd seen, perhaps I would not have lost my precious nephew…_

_Perhaps…_

* * *

"UNCLE," THE YOUNG boy squealed, scampering across the dining hall, pushing aside coiffed—and incensed—nobles on his way. He threw himself into the burly older man's arms, wrapping his skinny little arms tight around the man's thick neck.

"Zuko." General Iroh, Prince of the Fire Nation, patted the little boy's back, his other hand running over the silky ponytail that the young boy's hair had been caught up in. "Have you been behaving for me while I was gone?"

"Uhhhhh." Zuko buried his face in his uncle's neck and refused to meet the man's perceptive yellow eyes. "Definitely."

"Have you and your sister been behaving, Zuko?" Iroh forced a steel core of sternness into his otherwise warm, gravelly voice.

Iroh felt the boy nod rapidly against his neck. Zuko was either lying or omitting the truth—he refused to speak when he tried to avoid the admitting the truth, because the truth always showed in the crack of his voice, the flinch of his wide amber eyes.

Iroh sighed heavily and shifted the ten year old around in his arms, grasping his pointed chin and gently coaxing his face up.

Zuko was chewing viciously on his pale lower lip, and his eyes were trained on the clasps of Iroh's elaborate ceremonial armor.

"If you don't tell me," Iroh said gently, reasonably, "your mother most certainly will."

Zuko's wide amber eyes popped open to comic degrees—and narrowed again with defiance. He wiggled around in his uncle's arms till the burly man set him down on his little feet. "I didn't do anything wrong, Uncle." Zuko's rounded face was set in a mutinous pout.

"In that case," Iroh mused, "I suppose you won't be wanting the present I brought back from my tour of the Southern Water Tribe Colony." Zuko's face turned slack, his rosebud of a mouth popping open the slightest of bits. "Only honest Princes get exotic presents."

"Um!" Zuko's face had flushed with curiosity and that innocent greed unique to children. "But—but—"

Iroh shrugged and made to stride off, clasping his hands behind his back. "I suppose I could always give the present to your sister—although I originally meant to give it to you—"

"Please?" Zuko's lower lip trembled, and he tugged on a jutting piece of his uncle's armor. "Please, Uncle?"

Iroh softened at the young boy's pleading—but Zuko would get nowhere in life, and nowhere as a Fire Lord, if he did not learn to work for what he wanted. If he did not learn honesty and respect. Zuko was a good boy, had a good heart, but even the purest of children could be corrupted by power and the ease of being royal and wealthy.

"Only honest princes receive nice things," Iroh repeated, grizzled eyebrows folding down sternly. "Tell me what you and your sister have been up to, Zuko."

"I didn't do anything." Zuko stomped his little foot, fair face flushing to an almost puce color. "It was Azula! It's always Azula," he grumbled.

Iroh only stared down at his nephew impassively, one eyebrow slowly climbing his forehead. His skepticism was clear as glass.

Zuko's lower lip continued to tremble. "We kinda…got into a fight and…"

"And…?" Iroh's voice lifted on the word, trailing off in anticipation for Zuko to continue.

"And…we kinda…I mean, she kinda…'cause I wasn't really doing anything…"

"I haven't got all evening, Prince Zuko."

"Burntdownhalfthekitchen." The sentence smashed together and formed one mangled word that even Iroh had a difficult time discerning just what the young boy had spat out.

When he did decipher the boy's meaning, it was all he could do not to laugh uproariously. In any case, choking back on his laughter was quite the struggle. Iroh had to force his face into stern lines, biting the soft flesh on the inside of his cheek to tamp back the rising grin.

"Is that so? I trust that no one was hurt?" Save for Zuko's dignity in the face of the walloping his mother surely gave him.

"No, nobody was hurt!" Zuko's head swung back and forth rapidly. "Not at all! I mean, me and Azula burnt ourselves, but only a little, and I kinda singed part of her topknot and she looked kinda stupid with her hair all uneven but—"

The laugh bubbled up and out of Iroh's throat of its own accord, surprising the young Crown Prince into silence.

Iroh shook his head, knuckling a tear out from under his eye. "Okay, Prince Zuko, you've been honest enough. Would you like your present now?"

Zuko's eyes popped wide once more and shone with gleeful greed. He nodded rapidly, silky ponytail bobbing with the movement.

"In that case." Iroh made to turn around—then paused and said, "Wouldn't you like me to sing you 'Leaves from the Vine' first? Lu Ten tells me it is your favorite song and that you always look forward to hearing it when I return from my travels."

Zuko was obviously struggling not to pout or snap with impatience. The little boy gritted his teeth and said, "Maybe later, Uncle. Can't I see my present yet?"

"Patience is a virtue, my nephew." Iroh turned his broad head and called gently over his shoulder, "You can come here now, dear."

Zuko's high, pale forehead crumpled with confusion as the little girl emerged from the crowd of noble guests. She was young—younger than him, at least—with coarse, curly brown hair caught up in a Fire Nation topknot—and skin darker than he'd ever seen before. Her giant eyes—they were huge, those eyes, like frog eyes or something—were the approximate color of the sky during the summer. They stood out in her dark face, untrusting and vaguely frightened.

She'd been dressed in Fire Nation style clothing—a plain but well-tailored kimono—but instead of the usual reds or blacks or golds, it was a deep, ocean blue. From her appearance to the color of her clothes, she stood out like a dove amongst sparrowkeets. She looked…funny.

Furthermore, she obviously wasn't his present. Zuko scowled up at this uncle, not appreciating this.

"Where's my present, Uncle?" Zuko's face was set in a mutinous pout. For some reason, the little girl scowled at him.

"She's right here," Iroh said impassively, biting back another smile.

"Wh—what?" Zuko looked appalled—only to resume scowling when the little girl stuck her pointed pink tongue out at him.

"I brought you a companion—a friend. You don't play with children your age often enough, Zuko."

"I'm going to be Fire Lord. I don't need to play with anybody." Zuko stamped his foot to emphasize his point. The little girl rolled her strange blue eyes. "Hey. Don't make those faces at me. I'm a prince."

She only folded her chubby little arms and continued to scowl at him.

"This is Katara," Iroh began, resting his square hand on the young girl's shoulder in a protective manner. Either he hadn't noticed the hostility between the children or he chose not to pay it any heed. "Her parents died while travelling to the Northern Water Tribe Colony." The girl's—Katara's (weird name)—eyes flinched a little, but other than that she remained as impassive as a Fire Nation noble. "All she had left was her brother and her nanny. I offered to take them here and offer them positions within our household."

"Did Dad say it was okay?" Zuko was eyeing the girl with more curiousity than hostility now.

"Your father had no objections. He agreed that Katara and her brother and nanny could find a place here." So long as they were put to use, Iroh thought somewhat darkly.

"A brother?" That fact finally registered—Zuko peered around the crowded hall with far more interest than he had shown towards Katara. The little girl let out a snorting sound. "Sokka's eating. What else is new."

Zuko's inky brows climbed his forehead. "So your brother eats like a pig chicken?"

"A what?" Her tan brow crumpled.

"A—are you stupid or something?"

"Why, you—"

"Behave yourselves," Iroh chided gently. He took them each by the hand and herded them over to a little boy who looked a lot like Katara and an old, grizzled woman with whitish gray hair that hung into her face. Zuko's own face crumpled with disgust. Her clothes were roughly spun, her face sagged, and she looked overall unpleasant.

Too many peasants in his home. At least someone had dressed the Water Tribe children to look like nobles. This gross old lady didn't look fit to polish the chambermaids' shoes.

When the old lady—Iroh called her Hama-looked at Katara and her brother—Sokka—her old face would soften into a gentle fondness—but whenever her eyes alighted upon Zuko—or any of the Fire Nation nobles aside from Uncle Iroh—she would go cold and blank.

And her eyes…they would look…dead. Dead and cold, like fish eyes.

Zuko shuddered with unexpected chill more than once.

But then Katara would look at him, her hostility fading to something softer with every glance—the chill would melt into something that was almost warm.

Not that he liked her or anything.

* * *

_6 months later~_

ZUKO WOKE WITH the taste of blood and ashes filling his mouth. He woke with the cacophonous sounds of stamping feet and shrill screams ringing in his ears.

The blood and ashes would turn out to be an illusion—for now.

The screaming, the running feet—those were real.

"Zuko." Shrill little voice—his younger sister's voice—hands pulling at him, scrabbling at him. He huffed out a protest, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"What is it, Azula?" he grumbled, still half-asleep. His hair flopped into his eyes, and he absently wondered if he should cut it shorter or something.

Then the screams really began to register.

"The—there're bad guys—they're coming to get us and—" Now he knew for certain that something was wrong. His eyes were starting to adjust—Azula's face was stained with tears, her typically smug expression replaced by one of sheer, sharp panic. What with her being a prodigy—as his father never failed to remind him—and her typical overconfident attitude, Zuko often forgot something about his sister.

She was just a kid.

_And so am I._

"Azula. Zuko." Names snapped out in a staccato rhythm. His mother's silhouette standing tall and proud in the doorway for the shortest of moments before the Princess swept in—still draped in her gauzy sleep clothes, hair spilling loose and frazzled around her narrow shoulders—and grabbed Zuko and Azula by their collars, dragging them unceremoniously out of the bed.

"M-mom!" Zuko whined, not appreciating being dragged around like some recalcitrant puppy.

"Hush. Hush now." Ursa's typically gentle voice was strained thin. She was pulling clothes from his dresser, bundling both him and Azula—no, no, he didn't want his stupid sister to wear his clothes—into cloaks, shoving shoes onto their feet. A servant appeared out of seemingly nowhere, and Zuko strained to catch their mumblings.

"Hama…knew we couldn't trust that strange woman," the chambermaid was saying.

"She let them in—those treacherous nobles—I trusted her with my family, and she—"

"It isn't your fault, Your Highness. If anything, you should blame the General—he brought that crone and those little Water Tribe peasants to this household—"

"Katara!" Zuko broke away from his clinging sister, tugged at his mother's skirt. "Mom, where're Katara and Sokka—"

Ursa's face—from what he could see of it in this horrible lighting—creased. She bit her full lower lip, looked as if she were debating something with herself. Then, "I'm…not sure, my dear. Most of the servants have been evacuated, but—"

"Katara isn't a servant!" Zuko's voice cracked out high and thin. His eyes burned. "She's my friend!" In spite of them never having acknowledged such a thing to each other, in that moment Zuko saw the truth for what it was. Katara was his best friend, and if these—bad people got to her—

Zuko skirted around his mother and the chambermaid, ignoring the shouts of alarm and worry that followed him.

"Zuko—Zuko!" His mother's alarmed cry was drowned out by the stomping feet—people—strange people—were in his home—tearing down portraits, breaking fragile glass sculptures. Zuko stumbled to a halt, gaping at the surrounding chaos with a mixture of alarm, dismay—and righteous, seething anger. How—how could they do this? Steam puffed from his nostrils. His mouth filled with—flame? He hadn't thought he was advanced enough in Firebending to—

A stray elbow knocked him aside—and he fell onto his hindquarters. Zuko shook with anger and panic—he scrambled up to his knees, head swinging back and forth frantically. "K-Katara," he whispered, not daring to draw too much attention to himself. "Katara, Sokka—"

"Psssst! Hotpants!"

He knew that irritating nickname anywhere. Only one person called him that, with irritating regularity over these past sixth months…

Zuko peered around—and his gaze clashed with a pair of brilliant blue eyes that practically glowed in this hellish dark. A little figure—two little figures—were hunched underneath an antique table that was carved with depictions of twisting dragons.

"'Tara! Sokka—"

"Shush!" Sokka's finger flew to his lips, and his eyes—narrower and slightly paler than his sister's—flicked back and forth. He beckoned Zuko over—Katara's little hands grasped the Prince's forearms and dragged him closer, tucking the paler boy between her and her brother. Two arms—Katara's and Sokka's—banded over his shoulders, squeezing him till his bones threatened to crack.

All three of them were shaking.

"What's going—"

"We don't know." Zuko felt Sokka's shoulders nudge his own in a shrug. "We just woke up to really loud noises, and there were strange people running around and—"

"Hama let them in," Katara mumbled, tilting her head against Zuko's shoulder, her loose coarse curls abrading his cheek. "She let in the bad guys."

"Maybe it was on accident," Sokka was insisting, his voice a low hiss. Zuko listened with half an ear, eyes tracking the tramping, booted feet. From this vantage point, all he could see were feet, and calves. Were those…yes, those were the boots that the Fire Nation forces wore. They must have been here to fight against the intruders.

One of said Fire Nation soldier feet paused in front of the children's table. Zuko watched the pointy toes turn as if the soldier were reorienting himself. Heels scuffed. Why was he just…standing there? Should he not be battling the intruders?

"Why aren't you doing your job?" Zuko piped up. Katara squealed a protest, and Sokka clamped a sweaty palm over Zuko's mouth.

The feet jittered a bit, as if the man had started a little in surprise.

"You dummy," Sokka hissed into Zuko's ear, "the soldiers are with the bad guys."

Zuko's amber eyes widened over Sokka's stifling hand. He jerked in place, knocking an elbow into Sokka's stomach, attempting to wriggle away from the siblings. "Liar!" he accused. "Hey, soldier!"

The feet turned in place, the legs bent—a shadowed face peered at them. "Little prince," the soldier rasped. "And…peasant companions."

Sokka growled low in his throat, hefting his ever-present boomerang.

The soldier beckoned them, chunky fingers curling. "C'mere, kids. It isn't safe for you here."

"It won't be safe with you, either!" This from the defiant Sokka.

An impatient, growling sort of sound on the soldier's part. "C'mere already, brats. Hama'll want you alive."

Acid roiled in Zuko's stomach at the soldier's words. Something about them struck him as…wrong. Why was one of his father's soldiers talking about the old nursemaid Hama?

Hama, who, according to Katara, had let the bad guys in.

When Zuko spoke, his high youthful voice carried more than a hint of hostility. "Go away." He would shoot fire at the man if he refused to listen.

"Come here, Prince."

"No." Zuko's voice shook, high and thin. "Go away."

"Now listen here, you little brat—" The man's big hand reached out, but instead of going for Zuko, as the prince had expected, it tangled in Katara's thick brown hair, pulled the little girl's neck at an obviously painful angle. Even watching put a crick in Zuko's neck—but any phantom discomfort was subverted by the rage he felt at seeing Katara abused in such a way.

Zuko scrambled out from underneath the table, twisted on his heels, took a deep breath, stirred his inner fire—

And watched, mouth agape, as Sokka let out a bloodcurdling little yell and whacked the soldier over the head with his boomerang.

"You little piece of—of Water Tribe trash—"

"Don't touch my brother—" Katara gave a hair-raising screech of her own and wrapped her arms around the soldier's thick neck, kicking at his back with her little feet.

"G—guys!" Zuko scrambled around, looking for an opening—but mostly, he wanted to grab his friends and run. He needed to make sure that they would be safe—

"One job." A creaky old woman's voice. "I give you one job, and you're overpowered by a small cluster of children."

It was that old woman—Hama, the Water Tribe Hag. She was standing straighter than usual—was that why she looked taller—and while she didn't look younger or prettier…she looked more…regal. Her gray hair was smoother, her watery eyes wider and clearer.

And she looked, somehow, far more terrifying.

"One job," Hama said again, as Katara slowly slid down the soldier's back, azure eyes wide. "I ask you to catch the little prince, and instead you allow yourself to be beaten by children. Do you or do you not have Firebending at your disposal?"

"Mistress Hama—I cannot simply use fire against small children—"

One gnarled hand lifted, curled. The soldier's limbs jerked, as if he were a marionette guided by strings. Katara screeched, scrambled back against her brother.

"You should know better than to test me on a full moon."

The soldier's veins were standing out beneath his fair Fire Nation skin—Hama's eyes had fallen shut with concentration, her hands moving, body swaying subtly, as the man's body began to lift—lift up into the air, the tips of his pointy Fire Nation boots just grazing the floor.

Zuko's eyes widened to the size of teacup saucers—Hama really was a witch.

The man was choking—thick, disgusting sounds were gurgling up and out of his throat, and for a short instant Zuko worried that the soldier would vomit—not to say that projectile vomiting would be the worst of the man's problems at the moment.

Hama's hands fell, and the man collapsed to the floor in an ungainly heap, limbs sprawling out as if he were some broken doll. His body twitched, and Zuko swore he saw spittle and foam leak out from the corners of the man's lips.

"Have I made my point quite clear?"

A small series of gasps, the sort a fish out of water would emit, was the only reply the old crone received.

Hama inclined her grizzled head at another, beefier soldier that had taken up a stance at her shoulder. She stepped aside, gesturing gracefully. "I believe that it is now your duty to eliminate these minor problems."

The new soldier's skin tightened around his eyes—and he swallowed once, as if bracing himself to consume something disgusting—and the next few seconds bled into one another—but—but fire was shooting in orange and red sparks straight at them—and Katara was directly in their path and—and—

Pain. Horrible, searing pain. The skin of his face—felt like it was melting off, and—

"Zuko!"

Little hands were scrambling at him, patting at his skin—and he was writhing, snapping his teeth at those who reached for him. He was screaming—yes, that was him screaming, his throat was sore with his own shrieking—and—

Heat shot over his head, clumsy hands groped at him, scooped him up into a strong pair of arms. "Lu Ten!" Zuko squeaked, squinting through the one eye that was working, up at his older cousin. The teenager was running—sprinting, really—with his little cousin bundled in his arms. "Lu Ten—"

"Shh," the prince insisted, clamping a hand over his little cousin's mouth and searching the courtyard for his father's burly shape. "Zuko, be quiet." He gulped and fought back a sob at the sight of the ruin that was his younger cousin's face. "Dad and I will get you out of here. Okay?"

"But Katara," Zuko muttered, tongue thick with the pain he felt. "Sokka—"

"The Water Tribe children will be fine," Lu Ten clipped, knowing his own words for the lies they were. "You must focus on yourself, Zuko. You're injured and Hama wants to kill you."

"Lu Ten—" Tears were running out of Zuko's eye—the one eye that was visible, the eye that wasn't surrounded by brilliant, red burnt flesh. Lu Ten had to fight back the urge to gag—the sight was so wrong, so pathetic.

The elder prince jumped, tucked Zuko under his arm again at the blast that rocked the palace. No, they couldn't be using their own canons against them—Lu Ten whirled in place, looked up, going paler than usual under his fair Fire Nation skin as he watched orange flames lick the sky, curling up like hellish fingers to touch the fat full moon.

"Katara!" Zuko screeched, squirming in Lu Ten's arms, whining with pain and fear as he grappled uselessly at empty air. "Sokka, Katara! Tara, Tara! Mom! Mommy!"  
Lu Ten shook his head, nearly crying with frustration—his father should have been here, should have procured a conveyance by now. Blinking back tears of frustration and fear, Lu Ten ran, clearing the courtyard, sweaty hands fumbling at his young cousin.

And then the real hell began—Lu Ten crested a hill, tripped, and Zuko—Zuko was sliding out of his arms, tumbling down the slope—

To the rocks below.

Lu Ten searched till dawn, till his tearful, soot-stained father found him. They found not so much as a blood stain.

Zuko, former Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, his mother's darling and his Uncle's son of the heart, Lu Ten's little brother in all but name—was gone.

They never saw him again.

* * *

Reviews feed my muse and help me improve my writing! If you have time, I'd be so very honored if you left one. Even if you don't, thanks for reading this fic!

-Song


	2. Forks In the Road

A/N: I thought I might as well publish chapter two right away, as I already have it edited and uploaded to my Archive of Our Own account. In thich chapter, we meet Sokka and Katara as teenagers, as well as a young man named "Lee" with no memories before the age of ten. Caldera City has been known as Republic City since the Revolution, and has no relation to the Republic City of _The Legend of Korra_.

I hope you enjoy this chapter-and if you do, please take the time to tell me what you think!

-Song

* * *

_**Eight years later**_

THE STREET VENDORS were hawking their wares, their mundane little treasures. They did not hesitate to be obnoxious in their plights, as the bazaar hours were inadequately short at best. Katara stuck a thumb in her ear in a vain attempt to stave off their calls, her free hand gripping the coin purse that Sokka had entrusted to her. For all that she considered herself to be the more responsible of the two, Sokka definitely excelled at treating her like a child who would spend hard won money on silly things like expensive candies and tin hair clips.

She was here to buy food, return home, and go back to the business at hand. She and Sokka were overrun with people vying for the sought-after position the two siblings offered. Sixth months ago, they'd been lucky to catch the attention of a street vagabond looking for easy money. These days, Kat feared that they were starting to attract a little _too_ much attention. For all that the old palace was abandoned and in charred ruins, an officer or two would every so often pop by on a cursory survey of the once opulent grounds.

Spirits knew that a stream of "visitors" popping in and out at odd hours might attract unwanted attention from unwanted individuals.

Katara pushed into a small corner shop, sawdust and fresh hay permeating her nostrils, curling over her tongue along with the scent of cooked meats. She bit her tongue to hold back a stream of drool. This was vastly preferable to the musty hole that she and Sokka occupied out of a mixture of nostalgia and desperation. The kitchens there were long in disuse—almost a decade had passed since cooks created gourmet meals and slapped the hands of kitchen boys who tried to nick pieces of the fabulous meals.

"Hey, Kat!" The shop owner's only son beamed at her with white teeth in a sun tanned face. Haru and his family were immigrants from the Earth Kingdom, from their dark brown and black hair to their beautiful jewel green eyes. The House of Lords were more open to immigration nowadays than they'd been even ten years ago, but they weren't so keen on letting people move_ out_ of the country.

Not without piles of paper work and extensive background checking, that was to say. Haru folded his arms on the counter and gestured Katara over, his smile faltering a bit as his earthy green eyes flicked over her shoulder, scanning something past one of the shop's wide front windows.

The hairs on the back of Katara's neck stood up. Her free hand clamped down tight on the worn velvet of the coin purse.

The Guard was making one of its regular sweeps. But the Guard itself wasn't something to outright fear unless one made an effort to gain the soldiers' attention. No, the people to worry about were the plain clothed spies planted into crowds. Her stomach coiled just thinking of the rumors that whispered through darkened streets, rumors about the fates of those who'd caught the spies' attention.

Stories that were enough to curdle the blood of any stout bodied, warm blooded brave man.

"Haru." Katara's lips folded and parted on a false smile. She couldn't remember the last time she'd smiled from her heart, putting every ounce of her being into the movement of muscles. Katara forced her sweaty fingers to loosen their grip on the pouch and plant it on the counter. It gave a dull _chunk_ from the weight of what it carried.

"I'd like to get an order of links, a bag of rice, a…" Her voice counted off the items Sokka had listed for her earlier, steadier than one would expect, had one known just how nauseous she felt.

As Katara robotically listed the items she intended to purchase, Haru bustled around the shop, stopping into the back room once or twice to procure her orders. His handsome, if ordinary, face was smooth and unassuming. Like many of the residents of Republic City, formerly Caldera City (and if you called it the latter, you were likely to be accused of treason) Haru had long ago mastered the art of blank face.

_A blank face can hide a treasure trove of secrets_, his mother had often told him. Haru himself didn't carry many secrets, but he knew of many others who did.

"Here you go." Haru set the orders, neatly packaged for easy transportation, down on the pitted wood of the aged counter with a soft _thunk_. "Anything else, Kat?" He was smiling at Katara, but his eyes were focused just over her shoulder. The pupils retracted once, and the slightest bit of tension that had lurked around his eyes faded.

Katara's shoulders slumped. Whatever had disturbed Haru, was gone.

Thank any listening Spirits.

"No, we're good. Thank you, Haru." A faintest tint of pink lurked in Katara's cheeks. Haru was handsome, and just about at her own age of sixteen years.

Beyond the occasional stolen kiss, tasting of earth and mint and copper, they would never attain much together. Not if Katara wanted to get out, taking no one with her aside from her brother and their hoped-for meal ticket.

No way could Haru, attractive as he was, pass for a prince of the Fire Nation.

"Hey, hold up." Just as Katara was gathering the packages wrapped in their crackly brown paper, Haru gestured for her to stay. If he was hoping for a kiss, well, she wasn't in the mood to give one. She was still spooked by whoever, or whatever, had passed by the shop.

"Yeah?" She did her best to sound accommodating, but the bite of impatience and fear worked its way into her voice.

"I found something the other day, while I was at the beach with my parents." Haru knelt behind the counter, just a peep of brown hair showing. Katara tilted her head, bemused, as the sound of digging and shuffling through cabinets reached her ears.

"And that something is…?"

"Here!" Haru reared back up, fingers clutching something that caught the light and reflected it back.

It was small and angular, pronged, and caked with what must have been years' worth of dirt and thick sand granules. But it shone in places where it wasn't dirty or rusted over.

Haru pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, twisting it about, and shoved it within inches of Katara's nose. She bit back a startled yelp and glared at Haru before her gazed bounced back to the crown.

It _was_ a crown. A three pronged crown, the sort that she recalled the lesser royals—Princess Ursa, the children, the old general—wearing.

It was small, clearly a child's crown.

Katara's ocean blue eyes lit up. Her hands, clamped around her packages, itched with the urge to snatch it. If—if she were to get this—it would be_proof_. Proof that whoever they brought along with them was the genuine article.

Even if he wasn't.

"How much do you want for it?" Katara blurted before she could contemplate this course of action to its conclusion. She dumped the packages back onto the counter, dropping one and nearly bashing her big toe in the process. Her fingers, sweaty with excitement now rather than fear, fumbled at the coin purse, which she'd tied to her belt.

"Oh." Haru hummed for a moment, his eyes distant as if thinking it over, before grinning abruptly. He tossed the crown at her, and Katara reflexively made a grab for it. She was careful not to slice her fingers on the rusty edges, although she could easily heal any cuts with her pouch of water (not that she would do that in public).

"Take it. Consider it a goodbye present." Haru knew some of, if not all of, what she and Sokka were planning.

Katara bit back a girly squeal before fisting her free hand in Haru's collar and planting a warm kiss on his mouth, tongue flicking out to taste the sweetness on his lips. "Thank you!" Katara let the startled (if pleased) Haru go to examine her prize. She pulled a sleeve down over her hand and swiped at the crown's surface, rubbing away a thin layer of dirt.

_Crown Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation_, she thought, twisting the crown around to reflect the blue of her eyes.

_Now if only we could find a prince to go along with the crown._

* * *

A FINGER PINCHED tight around Lee's warped ear lobe, giving it a sharp, vicious twist. It took every ounce of his manly fortitude to not yelp. Even so, a tiny cry of pain bubbled up into his throat before he managed to stuff it back down.

The fingers that were clamped around his ear gave another twist, this time to the other side, before a palm planted itself between his shoulder blades and shoved.

If there was one thing he wouldn't miss, it would be the physical (if relatively rare and tame) abuse.

And the cold meals.

And sleeping on a dirt floor to make room in the rickety beds for the younger kids.

Yeah.

He wouldn't really miss anything about the orphanage, now that he thought about it.

"I procured you a position in the textile factory in the next town over," Lee's abuser (who happened to be the orphanage's owner) huffed in a tone of voice that implied he was doing the teenaged boy a huge favor out of the kindness of his heart (ha!).

The portly little man loosened his grip on Lee's ear, giving the boy the opportunity to tug free. He fought back a scowl (no need to invite a boot to the ass) and rubbed at his scarred ear. The puckered red skin abraded his palm.

Another thing he wouldn't miss—the wary looks the other kids shot him thanks to that scar, the outright _fear_ on the faces of the smaller children. He knew enough of people to say, without exception, that they feared that which was different.

A horribly scarred boy with no memories before the age of ten, a boy who was a _Firebender_ on top of that, was the definition of "different".

The portly man had taken custody of Lee's sleeve and was tugging him along, much as a child would with a toy, towards the gates that surrounded the short, rambling building. "Go right when you reach the fork. Don't stop to appreciate the wildlife and take naps." A sack full of (stale) food was shoved into Lee's hands.

No money, of course.

"If you don't show up within the next two days, the position I reserved for you will be forfeit and you'll be on your own for good." _To starve as a jobless pauper on the streets_ was left unsaid, but hung heavy in the wet summer air anyway.

"I heard you the first time," Lee grumbled, bracing for the kick that knocked into his thigh. But the small, if useless, rebellion was worth the pain.

He'd learned long ago to savor small victories.

"Get on with you, you high handed little brat." The orphanage's owner fumbled open the gate and gave Lee a shove (hopefully the last one he'd ever receive, but he knew better than to hope too hard). The aging man pulled the gates back shut with a decisive clang. "Good riddance to you—you with your attitude, as if you were the King of the Earth Kingdom itself!" The creases in his face deepened on a smirk. "Here's hoping that factory will knock some humility into you."

Lee only stared blankly as the man retreated into the orphanage.

"Good riddance, indeed." The words left him on a small rebellious huff. Lee pulled his straw hat down over his eyes, settle the pack between his shoulder blades, and marched down the beaten path without so much as a glance back to the place that had been his home for the past eight years.

Not a home, really. More like a place of residence.

Lee snorted out small licks of orange flame. He couldn't do much more than that; and it was his weak bending abilities that had kept him under the radar of the House of Lords. Any bender in this country, fire or otherwise, was wise to keep out of the House's grip.

Lee's disfigured face warped into a scowl when he reached the predicted fork in the road. To the right, as that fat son of a pig-chicken had said, was the way to the little town and its textile factory.

To the left, Republic City.

Any sane person would have gone right and stayed away from that pit of thieves and traitors.

Lee pushed his palm out in front of him, flexing his pale fingers. His cropped black hair tickled the nape of his neck. Sweat, coaxed to the surface of his skin by the bright noon sun, trailed down his back, dampened his roughly spun clothing.

He would be wise to go right.

Lee was not wise, nor completely sane.

His head tipped to the side, his amber eyes scanned the path that twisted into a patch of forest, presumably breaking free once again and furling out to Republic city.

He dug his boot toe into the dirt, coaxing up a cloud of pale brown dust. It was dry, devoid of any moistening water.

Republic City had water—that was to say, the ocean. It had water. And boats.

Boats were the key to getting _out_.

He wasn't sure where, but he knew that he needed to get out. To the Earth Kingdom, to one of the frigid poles, maybe to one of the many islands occupied by those half-mythical Airbenders.

He went left, and he didn't look back.


	3. Empty Spaces

A/N: I decided to update this rather early, as I already have this chapter published on AO3. Thanks to those who reviewed and favorited/subscribed, it means a lot. I answer all the reviews I get, at least if the reviewer is signed in. Sadly, I can't reply to anon/guest reviews.

As this story goes on, I'm going to be branching out more and more from the plot of Anastasia, in an effort to be as original as possible, but the same basic theme will remain-a lost, orphaned royal struggling to find their place in the world.

Anyway, if you have the time, please leave me a review telling me what you think! Reviews feed the muse!

-Song

* * *

THE PATTERN WAS predictable and well worn. Katara knew better than to expect anything more, anything different, but her chest tended to tighten up with hope, every single time. Always tightening with the groundless idea that _this_ one would be different, that _this _one would be their ticket to a comfortable life outside of this Spirits forsaken country that neither of them had willingly come to.

And, inevitably, her groundless and (to be perfectly honest) silly hopes were crushed beneath the cold boot heels of reality.

"I keep telling you that you need to be more of a realist." Her brother dug the tip of his carved bone dagger between his teeth, picking out the leftovers of a meal. Katara's upper lip curled in distaste.

Katara's eyes darted between her brother and the young man that stood on the makeshift stage, cobbled together from old chunks of furniture, crates, and press boards.

"You aren't a realist, you're a pessimist," Katara said from between her teeth. She peeled her lips open on a false, polite smile and kept her eyes locked on the pale young man.

"Same thing." Sokka nodded at something the "contestant" was saying—something about having a "royal carriage", whatever that meant beyond a fancy mode of transportation—and spoke to Katara out of the corner of his mouth. "You, on the other hand, are a liar."

"I'm an optimist!" Katara bit her lip at the raised tone of her voice and went back to smiling vapidly, discreetly kicking Sokka's ankle under the aged bamboo table.

"Same difference." Sokka blinked back tears at the abrupt sting of pain, narrow blue eyes promising retribution.

When their "guest" whipped out an oversized, obviously painted "crown" with paste jewels stuck on top of each prong and planted it on his dark head, Sokka proceeded to knock his forehead on the table, hard enough to leave a lasting mark.

Sokka's forehead had been suffering in such a manner quite often of late.

* * *

"ONE TICKET FOR the ferry, please." Lee slanted the straw hat down over his eyes, used to the uneasy stares and side-glances his vivid scar often drew. The hat didn't do much, really, but it managed to draw enough attention away from the upper half of his face, and cast it in shadow.

The sturdy man in the rickety ticket booth shuffled papers around, stamped something, and recited a price. It was a wonder Lee's jaw didn't unhinge.

"On that subject, I'll need to see your travel papers." The ticket seller sent Lee a blank, expectant look.

Lee bodily shook himself out of his daze—price shock—to frown at the ticket seller. He rapped his knuckles on the counter, tugged at his hat with his free hand. "Travel papers?" he echoed. The people waiting behind him muttered and shuffled around.

"Travel. Papers." The ticket seller enunciated the words slowly, as if Lee were deaf or dense or both.

Lee blinked twice, absently angling his hat farther down over his scarred eye. "I don't have travel papers," he blurted.

"No travel papers," the ticket seller clipped, making broad shooing motions at Lee with his square hands, "no ticket."

"But—"

"I said no ticket." With a vicious glare, the ticket seller spat at Lee's feet and slammed the booth's shutters closed with a resounding _clap_.

Lee swore softly and swung around to meet the glares of the people who were waiting in line behind him. One or two shot him rude gestures; the rest dispersed, save for a hunched little woman with a basket slung over the crook of her arm.

Without preamble, she shoved his hat up, much to his dismay. Lee yelped and pulled the hat back into place, not wanting his scar to draw attention.

Too late, however. The little old woman, at least, had gotten a good look at his face and, presumably, his scar.

The woman didn't cringe, as he would've expected. Instead, she crooked a twig-like finger at him, the dark skin of her face wrinkling on what might've been a smile.

"You're needing travel papers?" Her voice, curiously, was pitched so low that he had to strain to hear her.

Lee nodded once and stooped in the hopes of catching the rest of her words. "Yes, I am."

"Try the old palace. Ask for Kat."

"Who?" Lee, of course, had caught a glimpse of the run-down, charred building. You couldn't miss that huge monstrosity of architecture, even in a city as unfamiliar and sprawling as this one.

He'd thought it unoccupied for almost a decade.

"Kat. Go to Kat if you want travel papers." The old woman planted a bony hand between his shoulder blades and gave him an enthusiastic shove forward, reminding him, ironically enough, of the orphanage's owner.

_Well_, Lee thought, taking the woman's advice, _it's not as if I have many other options_. Not if he wanted to get out.

He had nothing but a sack of stale food and the old Dao swords he'd found in the orphanage's attic. What did he have to lose?

* * *

GETTING IN WAS almost too easy. Never, not once in his life (that he remembered) had Lee been _given _anything. Never had he attained something so easily.

Breaking into an abandoned building without being caught/fatally wounded/stabbed by a rusty nail…that was too easy.

It made the skin over his shoulder blades itch.

Lee crouched by what once had been a doorway, and was now a gaping hole in the side of the building, boarded over with flimsy hunks of wood. He peeked over one of the slats and squinted into what looked like pure darkness.

That old woman was nuts at best, a liar at worst. No one was there.

Given that, he probably shouldn't have ripped enough boards away to crawl inside.

But he did.

Hey, it was abandoned. Not like he was _really_ breaking in. And if this Kat person turned out to be made up or not what the old woman had said he was, Lee could always use this place as a somewhat warm source of shelter for the time being.

Lee squirmed through the opening and nearly choked on the first breath he took once inside. The dust in here was thick enough to fill several vats.

It wasn't quite as dark as he'd taken it to be. The more his eyes adjusted, the clearer the genteel decay became.

It was ruined now, charred here, crumbled there. But it must've been gorgeous once. Lee paced past rotting tables, tapestries held together slowly uncoiling threads, evidence upon evidence of former glory. Bits of gold glittered in the spare light that filtered in through holes in the ceiling.

What kind of people could live in such luxury? He wondered this as he turned into what might have been a great hall or ball room, once upon a time.

_Such a huge space shouldn't be this empty_, Lee thought, absently shoving back his hat and running a hand over his cropped black hair. It felt…wrong, somehow. Should not such a grand hall be full to bursting with silk-clad nobles—although such people no longer existed in this land—perfumed concubines, well pressed servants? Phantom aromas drifted to his nose—thick spices, heady perfumes, roasted meat—but when he inhaled, all he got was a headache-inducing nose full of dust and rotting fabric.

He shook his head, discreetly pinched himself. Then he wondered at the discretion—it wasn't as if anyone were here to witness his foolishness.

But if that were the case, why did the fine skin on the nape of his bare neck continue to prickle as if subjected to a hundred stares? He was being fanciful and paranoid—

All the same, his palms itched to take hold of his Dao swords. Agni knew what sort of cut throats and vagabonds might take up residence in this giant rotting deathtrap.

Amber eyes traveled over once-glorious rugs, unraveled as if someone had stolen the gold threads in their patterns—and maybe they had.

This place felt…sad. Sad because it was slowly being picked clean of its treasures. Sad because people should have been living their lives here.

_A space this big_, he thought again, _shouldn't be empty._

Lee drifted over to a side table that still had all four of its legs and ran three fingers over a dust-fuzzed vase. They smeared away a thick layer of grime in their wake. He lifted his fingers to his face and rubbed them together before slapping his hand against the side of his leg. Dust was something he wasn't used to, at least not in such copious amounts. The orphanage had been clean, the kids often put to work in their "spare time". The orphan master did not tolerate grime, on his furniture or his charges.

Okay, that was _one_ thing Lee would miss—regular baths, even if they were tepid instead of hot, with only the most discreet spurt of Firebending to warm them.

He shivered and banded his arms tight around his torso. Agni, but it was drafty in here. Drafty but musty enough to make one choke on the thickness in the air. Thick with years' worth of dust in some places, thin from the drafts in others. Overall, thoroughly uncomfortable.

_I should probably be going now_.

Lee began to backtrack, mounting the steps he'd come down, intending to hook around to the hall he'd walked through—and stumbled to a halt, his eyes drawn to a huge portrait twice as tall as him and three times as wide.

It was beautiful, colorful under its layers of dust and years of fading.

It dwarfed all the other paintings and tapestries he'd drifted by, and he wondered why it hadn't caught is attention until now.

It was a family portrait, simple in its exposition with a plain, pale yellow background that might have been gold or amber once upon a time. But age and lack of care had faded the colors and blurred the lines that made up the portrait's subjects.

They _had_ to be royals, members of the family that once ruled the Fire Nation with fists of iron and fire. Lee was no art expert, no judge of age, so he couldn't pinpoint the time period the small gathering of royals called theirs. But—and this was a wild guess on his part—their style of clothing hinted that they were from the not-too-distant past. Maybe a decade or so ago.

The man's features were carved and severe; the thick brush strokes couldn't soften them. Half of his ink black hair was drawn up in a topknot, the sort only the wealthy wore, and his body was draped in red robes.

A doll like woman sat beside him, a little girl—a miniature version of herself—propped in her lap. Like the man—the father—they were dark haired and pale skinned, like Lee and many natives of the Fire Nation.

The woman's eyes were sad.

The fourth and final figure was that of a little boy, maybe five or six years old. Lee had no idea how the artist had coaxed the kid into standing still for an extended interval, expression schooled into solemn impassivity, arms folded behind his back. Lee would've spent the entire time fidgeting.

Lee tilted his head; living amber eyes met painted ones. How could a boy this young look so serious? Lee didn't remember being that age, so he supposed he couldn't judge that accurately.

"Crown Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation and heir to the throne. The missing prince, never confirmed dead, never confirmed alive."

Lee nearly choked.

Lee spun in place, hands flying to his Dao swords. He would have Firebent, had he any actual faith in his abilities (such as they were).

"No need to have a heart attack." A dusky skinned boy was striding into view, taking the steps two at a time, thumbs hooked into the loops of a loose leather belt. His blue eyes stood out starkly in the brown skin of his square jawed face.

Lee's brain automatically identified the other boy as Water Tribe (North or South, who knew); while he'd never come face to face with those blue eyed, cold blooded people before this instance, he'd heard about their dark, stout beauty.

This Water Tribe boy was approximately Lee's age, draped in pale blue, rough spun clothing, hard biceps exposed by his lack of sleeves. The sides of his head were shaved, the remaining brown hair pulled back in a stubby tail. He flipped a dagger up and began to dig it between his teeth as if it were…a…a toothpick.

"By the way." The Water Tribe boy mounted the last of the steps and squinted at Lee where he hesitated in the shadows, straw hat pulled low over his eyes. "How'd you get in here, Mystery Guy?"

"The boards over the doorways are pretty loose," Lee said plainly, not sure if lying would be the better path. But there was really no point in that, and Lee was a pretty poor liar in any case.

Water Tribe Guy barked a laugh, twirling the bone dagger between his squared-off fingers before sheathing it. "If you're here to steal junk, you're doing a crap job of it so far."

"I'm not a thief," Lee snapped, affronted. "I'd never do something so dishonorable." Maybe if he were starving, but matters of life and death made many exceptions to the usual rules of honor.

"Hey, man, I'm just saying." Water Tribe Guy offered his hands palm up, as if to push away any unintentional offense. "If you're not a thief, then why are you here?"

"I, uh, I—" _Sound like an idiot._ "I'm here to see someone named Kat. I was told he had ferry tickets."

Water Tribe Guy tilted his head to the side, stubby tail of hair bobbing. His blue eyes went wide; his lids came down on several rapid blinks. His mouth popped open, and a short series of laughs bubbled up.

Lee stared at him with a fusion of bemusement and insult. _What_ was so hilarious?

The boy twisted in place, eyes still leaking with tears, and called over his shoulder, "Hey, Kat, someone wants to see you."

There was a protracted pause, the silence broken only by the occasional bubble of laughter on Water Tribe guy's part.

Footsteps echoed in the cavernous space, announcing the short, sturdy figured that came into view. This person was Water Tribe too, from their stocky build, brown skin, and blue robes and leggings.

This person had a long plait of wood-brown hair, blue eyes the size of teacup saucers…

And, beneath the loose fabric of those robes, breasts.

Kat, it would seem, was a _she_.

Lee's face burned under his fair skin.

She mounted the steps, much like her companion, two at a time, face schooled into a non-expression, her big eyes blank. She neared Lee, effectively backing him into a corner, and without any sort of forewarning or ceremony, ripped off his hat.

And her face shifted into an expression of what might have been _delight_ of all things, or at least satisfaction.

She studied Lee for seconds that stretched into minutes, eyes flicking back and forth between him and the huge family portrait.

Her tongue darted out to wet the cracks in her lips. Her heart-shaped face schooled itself back into a cool expression.

"You're hired."


	4. Kat

A/N: Hi, guys! Thanks so much to those who reviewed, I really appreciate it.

In other news, I'm thinking of expanding my Zutara twoshot "Love's Child" into a full fic about the Zuko, Katara, and their family. Would you mind telling me what you think regarding that?

So, um, yeah! Please review if you can! I really appreciate it, as it helps me improve immensely ;v;

* * *

"I'M WHAT?" LEE'S mouth worked, but he couldn't manage to spit anything more eloquent than that out. He sucked in his already hollow cheeks and squinted at the Water Tribe Girl who stood in front of him, arms crossed beneath her breasts.

Yes, "Kat" was most definitely female.

"Hired." Her round eyes shuttered on a blink. "Or do I need to define the word for you?"

Lee's mouth twisted. "I'm not in pre-school. You don't need to give me a vocabulary lesson, Miss…Kat."

"That's Katara to you." The girl flicked a piece of invisible lint off the sleeve of her blue tunic. "Now, are you going to accept the job or not?"

"I was told that you could help me get ahold of traveling papers." The frown was evident in his voice. "No one ever said anything about a job."

"'No one' misinformed you, then." Katara's blunt fingers drummed out a rhythm on one of her folded arms. "No job, no traveling papers, no tickets. Is that clear enough for you?"

Lee's scarred face twisted on a scowl. "Crystal," he clipped out, puffs of smoke snorting from his nostrils.

Water Tribe Guy goggled at him. "Was that…smoke? Katara, he's a Firebender!"

Her blue eyes went bright, the dim lighting sparkling off of them. "Perfect," she said, quietly. "One less thing to fake, though I suppose we could have said that his Firebending went dormant during his…absence."

"One less lie to tell," the guy grumbled. Katara knocked an elbow into his ribs.

"Why are you two hiding out here, anyway?" Lee blurted, too confused by their talk of lies to linger on the subject. "This place has been abandoned for years, and I'm pretty sure there's a no-trespassers policy." He flung out a hand to encompass the huge, musty space. Sunlight filtered in through holes in the ceiling, lighting up trails of dust.

"Says the guy who _trespassed_," the Water Tribe boy snorted, jabbing a finger at Lee.

"I—I…"

In tandem, the two raised their eyebrows at him.

"Did you two…run away together, or something?" He'd grown up on legends of forbidden lovers who beat the odds to be together, only to face some sort of tragedy.

"In a way, I guess." The guy rubbed at his affronted ribs. "I mean, it's not like I could leave my little sister behind."

"Oh, _please_, Sokka, _I'm_ the one who takes care of _you_."

"Hey—"

Lee flung his hands out, stopping them in mid-squabble. "Listen, I…clearly I'm not who you're looking for. So I'm just going to…go now. Yeah." And figure out another way to get the hells out.

"Wait, wait, wait." The girl, Katara, surged forward and caught him by a ratty sleeve. She curled her fingers into the fabric and coaxed him closer, peering up at his face again. "Don't you want to hear about the job?" she asked earnestly, full bottom lip curling on what might have been a smile.

"I…"

"Really eloquent, this one," Sokka snarked.

Katara tossed a rude gesture at him over her shoulder, but kept her eyes on Lee's. "I promise you, you won't regret any of it."

"Would you, um, mind telling me what 'it' is first?" He wrapped his fingers around hers and peeled them off of his sleeve. She let go without protest, but continued to stare up at his face.

In response to his question, she pinched his chin between her fingers and urged him to crane his neck around. His neck cracked, and he struggled to jerk out of her grip. She was stronger than she looked.

"Would you just _look_?" Katara cranked her free hand down on his shoulder and spun him around. "See?"

"See _what_?" Oh, _why_ had he bought into the idea that you shouldn't hit girls?

"The boy." She slackened her grip on his chin, even as she gave him a shake. "The resemblance is astounding. Not to mention…" She knocked his chin up, and his eyes focused on the upper part of the portrait. "You look like a younger, scarred Fire Lord Ozai."

"Perfect," Sokka said from beyond their shoulders.

"I don't follow," Lee said slowly. That wasn't quite true; he was beginning to suspect…but he didn't want to even entertain the idea. They were_insane_ if they thought—

"Crown Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation." Satisfaction dripped from Katara's voice—satisfaction and what Lee thought was irony. "It's my honor to meet you."

"Wait, wait—hold up." Lee squirmed away from her, amber eyes bouncing back and forth between the Water Tribe girl and the old, moth-eaten portrait. "You…are saying…that you think…_I_ am the dead prince Zuko?" His voice cracked on the word _prince_.

"Lost, actually. Never confirmed dead—pretty sure I already said that," Sokka put in, wagging a finger at Lee.

"You certainly look like you could be him," Katara mused, walking a tight circle around Lee. "You have the royal look to you—your skin is a bit darker than it should be, but that can be attributed to hard days spent in exile." She cocked her head from one side to the other. "And the eyes…yes, they're the spitting image of Prince Zuko's." She gestured at the painting, and, without really meaning to, Lee met the eyes of the little painted boy.

Painted eyes stared back at him, blank, giving away no secrets. If they had any secrets to keep in the first place.

"Listen, Miss…Katara. I don't know what your game is, but you're wrong. I can't remember anything that happened to me before the age of ten or eleven. I—"

He was cut off by a _yelp_, of all things, on Katara's part. "You're perfect!" she blurted, clapping her hands together in a childish (but endearing) gesture.

"…thanks?" Lee shut one eye and squinted at her out of the other. Was she normally prone to such mood swings?

"No memory before the age of ten—right age, right look, a Firebender—and a scar, most likely a _burn_ scar. Yes, you're almost too perfect."

"What does my _scar_ have to do with it?" Lee bit out, slapping a hand over the disfigurement in question.

"On the night of the Revolution, Prince Zuko was attacked by a Firebender—the severity of the attack was such that a burn scar resulting from it wouldn't be out of the question." Katara tapped a rhythm out on her bottom lip, eyeing him up and down.

Lee shifted around and crossed his arms over his chest, balking under the scrutiny. "And you would know all of this, _how_?" he clipped.

"We have our sources," Sokka said, aiming for cryptic.

"Ahuh." Lee shook his head, nudged the brim of his straw hat back down, and made to get the Agni out of there. "Good to know. I'll be off now."_Off to somewhere less…insane_.

"Wait, wait, wait," Katara said again, snagging him by the cuff of one sleeve.

"You seem to be making a habit of this." He scowled down at the grubby little hand that gripped his grubbier sleeve.

"_And_ a royal haughtiness. I'd be insane to let you get away." Her wide smile would have been charming under any other circumstances.

"You're already insane. You think that _I'm_ some lost _prince_—"

Sokka butted in again, sidling up to Lee's shoulder. "Well, you _could_ be. And if you are—even if you aren't—General Iroh is looking for you."

"General…" Oh, one of the more famed refugees from the Revolution, taking up amnesty in the Earth Kingdom, like many of the other fallen nobles who'd sided with the dead royals. "What about him?"

"He wants his nephew back. His own son is sick and a bit…" Katara twirled her index finger next to her temple. "And we, out of the goodness of our hearts, want to return said nephew to him."

Lee sucked in his lower lip and squinted back and forth between the siblings. "And what's…in it for you?"

"The knowledge that we did a good deed?" Sokka beamed at him.

Lee only blinked.

"I don't know what kind of people you've met, but there _are_ those of us who are capable of doing genuine good." Katara tapped her knuckles on Lee's scarred cheek, and he barred his teeth at her before pulling away from the siblings. "And…well…if we return the lost nephew, we'll be granted permanent amnesty." Her blue eyes went dark. "If you think being a citizen of the Fire Nation is difficult, try being a foreigner here. We're treated like second class human beings—less than that."

Lee tamped back on the instinctive surge of sympathy he felt for the Water Tribe siblings. He understood where they were coming from, a little.

"And if we have amnesty there…we can go back home. Get it?" Katara made a small, helpless gesture with her hands. "But to get amnesty in the first place, we need…well, you."

Well…she just had to appeal to his chivalry, didn't she. Lee's stomach turned over three times before settling down.

He turned on his heel and went back to staring at the portrait. His fingers curled in against his palms, and his mouth went slack as he stared at the little boy in the portrait.

It was farfetched…but anything was possible, right? And even if they were wrong (they were probably wrong) he could always explain to the General that it had all been an honest mistake, and no harm done (hopefully).

And…if it became too much for him…he could sneak away from them during the course of the journey. So long as he _got out_.

"Well…if you're right, then I have a new family. If you're wrong…then it's all an honest mistake and no harm done, right?" He sounded as if he were convincing himself.

Behind Lee's shoulder, Sokka's face cracked on a grin. "Is that a yes, Prince?"

"My name is Lee," the Fire Nation boy replied absently, eyes still locked on that portrait.

"Not for long, it won't be." Katara's mouth began to curl.

"I guess…for now…it's a yes." Lee's shoulders moved up and down on a shrug. For all the enormity of his decision, he felt strangely detached from this entire thing. Maybe it would sink in later…but for now…

Lee grunted out a small protest when Katara, then Sokka, laced their arms through each of his. Out of the corner of his eye, Lee saw Katara pat a small pouch. "Guess who just won their tickets and travel papers?"

"Hint: it's you," Sokka added jovially.

"I never would have guessed," Lee said dryly, a small muscle ticking in his jaw. But _now_ he felt something—this was real, this was tangible, and he was going to get out.

The siblings coaxed him around, clopping down the small set of stairs. "Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation," Katara announced to an invisible crowd, sweeping out an arm in a grand gesture. "Back for good."

Lee actually managed to smile down at her, even as his stomach churned.

He wondered how long it would be before he began to regret this.

* * *

A/N: Please review! :D The more reviews, the more my writing improves, the better this fic is for the audience!


	5. Spider's Web

A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for the feedback; I'm glad this story seems to be standing enough on its own, and not relying solely on the source material!

I hope you like this chapter, in which our villain finally makes an appearance! As always, if you catch any errors, or just want to give me feed back, please leave a review telling me what you think :D

Oh, one other thing! I'm willing to write a oneshot or twoshot, with the pairing of your choice, for anyone gracious enough to make a trailer for this fic! I'd really love to see someone make a lovely AMV for this fic ^^ Message me or tell me in the reviews if you decide to, so I can know to write you something!

x, Song

* * *

IT DIDN'T TAKE Katara very long to form an opinion on their "lost prince."

"No prince could be this much of an awkward dork," Katara declared, twisting her loops of brown hair into a manageable plait. Her lips were puckered with contempt. "How in the Spirits' names are we going to convince the world he's a royal?"

"We'll figure something out," was Sokka's nonchalant response. He plunked down on the abandoned kitchen's counter, picked something out of his nose, and snapped his teeth into an apple. "I mean, we're us." Bits of smushed apple spewed out of his mouth as he spoke. "We always figure something out."

The contempt that had puckered Katara's face shifted into an expression of disgust. "Chew with your Agni damned mouth shut," she mumbled, pulling her sleeve down to her wrist and wiping at her brother's chin.

"Stop mothering me, Kat!" Sokka swatted her hand away, brow crumpled with disdain and insult. "I'm older than you, let me act like it."

"I'm waiting for you to act like it," his sister deadpanned. "I've _been_ waiting for you to act like it since, oh, say; I sprang out of the womb."

"I swear to the Spirits, Katara—" Sokka chucked his half eaten apple at her head—she bent a stream of water from her pouch and shot up a sheet of thick ice. The apple ricocheted off the ice, leaving a web of cracks as a reminder that it had been there.

"Do you two…always fight like this?" Lee's—_Zuko's_—uncertain voice came from behind them. He made no comment about her display of bending; perhaps people were less…wary about that sort of thing out in the country side.

The way he spoke was stiffly formal—not in the way of a noble or a royal, but rather in the way of someone who had poor social skills. Katara rolled her eyes to the heavens that peeked in from the holes in the ceiling.

"That's what siblings do," Sokka answered in an obvious sort of way—what else did the guy expect?

"I wouldn't know," was Lee's—no, _Zuko's_—mumbled reply.

"Actually," Katara was swift to correct him, taking on a lecturing tone," you would know. Prince Zuko—you—had one younger sister, Princess Azula. She was one year younger than him—you—and she was a Firebending prodigy."

"Good for her," the scarred young man said disinterestedly. He ran a palm over his short black hair—he'd pushed the straw hat back after about an hour in their company—and shuffled in place. Clearly he'd run out of things to say.

Royals were supposed to be proficient at useless chatter, as well as at giving eloquent, formal speeches. They were going to have to correct this awkward boy's observed tendency to clam up at any given moment.

"You on the other hand," Katara went on, drumming her fingers on her thigh as she dredged up memorized facts and faded memories, "were something of a later bloomer when it came to your Firebending."

"I can hardly Firebend now," Lee snapped, lopsided face twisting further in a scowl.

"Lucky for you, too." Sokka craned his neck around to peer into Lee's face. "Republic City doesn't exactly…promote bending."

"I've heard about that," Lee said slowly, pinching his chin between his fingertips and turning introspective. "But no one ever explained to me why."

"The fallen royal family was full of benders. Bending of any kind signifies 'tyranny' these days." Sokka twitched his fingers into air-quotes for emphasis.

"I don't see how that makes any sense…" Lee trailed off.

"It doesn't," Katara put in. She tied off her braid and propped her hands on her hips. "It's _their _way of keeping all the power to themselves."

"I don't see how…"

"You keep repeating yourself. Really, I think a royal should be more eloquent." Katara pinched her softly rounded chin between her fingers and turned thoughtful. "You'll need lessons if you're going to be convincing, that much is for sure."

"Lessons?" Lee stiffened noticeably (more so than usual).

"Royalty lessons." Katara nodded once, twice, a third time. "It's a long journey to the Earth Kingdom. We'll have just enough time to make sure that you're…convincing."

"If I'm a royal, as you think I am, then shouldn't _royal behavior_ be ingrained in me?" Lee quipped.

"Sassy," Sokka commented, flipping another apple out of thin air and peeling away.

Lee snorted flame. Katara's full mouth pulled down on a frown. "It would be helpful if you ever managed to do more than sneeze fire."

Lee's mouth worked for several protracted moments; in the end, he simply stalked off. Silence permeated the kitchen, broken only by Sokka's loud crunching.

"What's his problem?"

* * *

THE STOCKY BRUNETTE tapped her way down a sloped rooftop, arms flung back, sleek braid bobbing in her wake. The toe of her dark pink slipper caught in a roof shingle, and for a moment she faltered—only to spring back into place, darting onto the adjacent roof. Her agility would have impressed observers, had there been any.

She hooked her fingers over the peak of the roof and swung her body over to the other side, landing with nary a stumble. Smoothing her pale pink tunic into place over her torso, Ty Lee peered over the sloped roof's edge.

A thin, narrow girl with cheekbones as sharp as the knives she wielded and sleek hair had propped her shoulders against the squat building.

The taller, thinner girl showed no signs of surprise when the acrobat popped down beside her. "You're late, Ty." Her voice was husky, low, and devoid of any apparent emotion.

Ty Lee gnawed her lower lip, saddened, like she always was, by Mai's dingy aura. Ty Lee herself was hardly as happy as she often appeared…but at least her emotions weren't corked and stuffed away.

It made her want to punch Mai's parents in their noses.

"I'm sorry!" Ty Lee injected as much cheer as she could muster into her voice. "I saw a pretty jewelry stand on my way here and I just had to stop and look!"

"I hope you kept your hands to yourself." Mai twirled a stiletto-thin dagger between her fingers, narrow amber eyes dull with apparent boredom.

"Well actually." A sheepish grin creased Ty Lee's face; she brought her hand out from behind her back and spread her fingers. A golden chain, thin as a spider's thread, was looped around her fingers, encrusted with red jewels carved to resemble rose petals. "I couldn't help myself," she chirped.

Mai cast Ty Lee a sour look. "Stealing things is beneath a noble's daughter." She wanted to bite her tongue till it bled—she sounded like her parents.

"What does nobility even stand for anymore?" Ty Lee's sweet face turned sour and bitter. Her spine snapped straight, and she affixed a pleasant expression to her face once more. "I got it for you, though!"

Mai's eyes bobbed back and forth between the hopeful Ty Lee and the stolen necklace. She did like the rose petals…

Sighing heavily, as if bestowing a great favor on Ty Lee, Mai allowed Ty Lee to clasp the necklace around her pale throat. It stood out bright and shining against her dark clothing.

"She won't like that we're late," Mai said without bothering to thank the shorter girl. "And you know how she is when she's angry."

Ty Lee gave the barest of winces. "Don't remind me."

"I think you need reminding, sometimes." Mai pushed straight and sheathed her knife, tucking it away into a fold of her billowing sleeve. She turned down the adjacent alley, slippered feet making nary a sound against the packed dirt that formed the ground here.

"Oh, I'm perfectly aware."

"Anything new this time around?" From the way she said it, it was evident that Mai wasn't expecting an affirmative.

"Actually." Ty Lee skipped along beside Mai, every so often brushing her fingers against the knife-wielder's forearm. "Actually, there kind of…was."

Mai halted in her tracks; her eyes darted over to Ty Lee. "Such…as?" She both dreaded and longed for what Ty Lee was about to say.

"Yeah, those two…well, from what I could see through the holes in the roof…they found a boy. A dark haired boy, kind of pale, like you and—" Ty Lee gestured to the side of her pretty rounded face. "—and, I couldn't really be sure but I think he had a burn scar."

Mai's only visible reaction was a tightening of skin around her eyes and a convulsive swallow. Everyone knew that the fallen prince had been burnt by a "revolutionary" right before disappearing.

"Did he now?" Mai kept her spine rigid as she turned around a tight corner.

"I think so—yep!" Ty Lee nodded, mostly to herself, as Mai wasn't paying any attention.

"In that case, we really should—oh."

Ty Lee yelped and cranked a hand tight around Mai's forearm, heart thrumming against her chest, fluttering with surprise and a little bit of fear.

"You girls are late, as usual." The stooped old woman frowned at the teenaged girls, chastising. . "I do hope you've brought information rich enough to make up for your tardiness?"

"Actually, we do!" Ty Lee bounced forward, quick to recover. Mai couldn't help but notice that the chi-blocker put her body directly between Mai and the old woman.

The fingers of her right hand twitched.

"Do you, now?" The old woman shifted a bouquet of wildflowers around in her arms and sighed, clearly setting herself up for disappointment.

"Yep! The Water Tribe kids—they found a boy! A dark haired boy with a scar."

Mai's fingers twitched again at the look that settled onto the old woman's face. At the light that cleared her usually filmy eyes.

And she tried very, very hard not to retch as Hama the Witch twisted her fingers and drew every last drop of moisture from the bouquet in her stick-like arms. The flowers shriveled, turned to brown crisps, and Hama began to chuckle.

"Is that so, my dear? Is that…so."

* * *

A/N: Reviews feed the muse, and help my writing process, but I'm simply glad for your time (:

x, Song


End file.
